He rewarded her enthusiasm with another kiss. “Of sliding my hand from your nape, down the sweep of your back and over the sweet, sweet curves below.”
She blew out a shuddering breath when he cupped her bottom with one hand. “I said, slow.”
“We’re just talking.”
Her next look was an accusation. “You know perfectly well what you’re doing.”
He smiled, feeling the cat purr again. He did know what he was doing. Ashaya was a creature of the intellect. She was so damn smart it turned him on like nobody’s business. He knew instinctively that to truly reach her, to awaken her sensuality on the level he needed, he’d have to tempt her mind as well as her body.
With the smile continuing to flirt over his lips, he released her and moved his hands to his belt. Ashaya watched with un-hidden feminine intent as he undid the buckle and pulled the belt slowly through the hoops. When the metal buckle clunked to the floor, she gave a little jump, but her eyes didn’t move from the denim-covered erection he made no effort to hide.
“I want you so bad,” he said, “one touch and I’ll come.”
Her chest moved up and down in a ragged rhythm.
He flicked open the top button, went to the fly, pulled it down a little. “Damn,” he said, holding her eyes. “I forgot the boots.” Grabbing one of the two chairs in the room, he sat down, legs sprawled. As he bent to undo the laces of his combat boots, he flicked his eyes behind Ashaya. Even this deep into sex, his protectiveness wouldn’t allow her to be vulnerable. Only when he was sure the security panel was still flashing “Safe” did he pull off the first boot and drop it.
Ashaya remained in place as he did the same to the second. Neither did she move when he got rid of his socks and sat back up. She was rubbing her hands down the front of her soft khaki cargos, the dark blue of her T-shirt molding to the generous curves of her breasts. Damp, he thought, nostrils flaring at the scent, her skin was damp. That made him think of other, wetter, slicker parts of her.
Groaning, he sprawled back in the chair. “My cock hurts, sugar.”
“What do you want me to do?” A husky offer couched as a question.
He waved a finger at her T-shirt. “Off. Please.” He put every ounce of charm he had into his smile.
She didn’t smile in return, but her eyes filled with something hot… exquisitely possessive. Putting her hands on the bottom edge of the tee, she pulled it over her head in a single efficient move. He about swallowed his tongue when she did the same with the black sports bra she had on underneath.
“Shit.” He pulled down the damn zipper of his jeans, releasing the pounding length of his erection.
Her eyes went to him. She licked her lips. And he had to squeeze himself hard at the base to keep from coming right then and there. “You’re not shy.” His voice croaked, he was so damn hot for her.
She walked closer, pure, welcoming female. “You told me you look at me and think of sex. I assumed that meant you liked my body. Don’t you?” Hands on hips, head tilted in a way that was woman personified. She was so confident looking, he almost missed the hint of uncertainty in her eyes. Then she spoke, and he remembered that his mate was very good at hiding her fears, her hurts. “Dorian?”
“Shh, I’m looking.” He traced the lush weight of her breasts with his gaze, angled down the curve of her waist to hips that seemed made for a man’s hands. Lower. God, he wanted to bite down on her flesh, mark her in the most primitive of ways.
The cat spread inside him in a languorous wave of sexual need. Now, it said, she’s ready. Her arousal was a drug soaking into his very pores, threatening to make his earlier teasing come true-he might lose it simply by looking at her. In desperation, he squeezed himself tighter. “Baby, if I liked your body any more, I’d turn myself into a eunuch trying not to come.” She was even more sexily built than he’d imagined, a curvy goddess straight out of his hottest dreams.
She looked down at his erection, fascination in her gaze. “Why”-her eyes traced the length of him, her teeth sinking into her lower lip-“do I find the sight of you holding yourself so arousing?”
“The same reason I’d love to see you pleasuring yourself.” Oh, hell, he hadn’t just said that and put the image in his mind! “Fuck.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to think of baseball, trees, anything but the vision of Ashaya with her hand buried between her legs, head thrown back in sweet release.
It didn’t work.
His eyes snapped open just as Ashaya leaned closer and ran a single wondering finger down his aching cock. He came.
Ashaya had never considered pleasure before meeting Dorian. Even then, she’d considered it as something predictable in a general sense. When he touched her, she felt pleasure. That was the equation. Contact = pleasure. She’d never once thought that watching him lose control would birth a pleasure so deep and rich, it would eclipse everything that had come before.
His eyes opened after several long seconds. “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
She was startled to see a hint of embarrassment in the vibrant blue. “Dorian,” she said, not bothering to hide the depth of want clawing at her, “that was the most erotic experience of my entire life.”
Sensual charm curved his lips, wicked and teasing. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll give you something to compare it to. You’re so damn pretty, Shaya.”
“A few minutes?” Feeling suddenly shy, she crossed her arms over her chest. The smile on his face widened, becoming touched with the feral wildness of the cat. It made thinking difficult. “I believed males needed a longer recovery time to mate.”
“Not this kitty cat.” Rising to his feet, he said, “Get ready to play.”
She found her body straining after him as he disappeared down the corridor she assumed led to the bathroom. When he returned, he was completely naked. She heard a sound of incredible yearning fill the air, and was shocked to find it had come from her. Dorian’s body went utterly motionless. A second later, he moved with such speed that she gasped to find him in front of her, pulling her arms apart.
“Let me see,” he said, exerting gentle pressure.
She didn’t fight him. “There’s a hunger,” she whispered, scared at the depth of that need, at what it demanded from her. “It’s almost painful.”
He didn’t tell her to stop analyzing their interaction, didn’t accuse her of not acting like a normal woman, both fears she’d harbored. Instead, he smiled and said, “Show me where.”
When he let go of her arms, she spread the palm of her right hand over her navel, partly touching skin, partly the material of her cargos.
“There?” Brushing aside her hand, he replaced it with his own. She looked down, mesmerized at the erotic contrast. His hand was thickly masculine in comparison to her own, the hairs on the backs of his arms shimmering with light, his fingers marked with faded scars. He was beautiful to her. But when he looked at her, she saw a startling truth-she was beautiful to him, too.
“Yes,” she whispered, and it was a permission not an answer.
He took her at her word, this man with a wounded soul and the heart of a leopard, a man so complex that she knew he’d be a puzzle she could explore the rest of her life, if she only had the chance. She sucked in a breath as he changed the direction of his hand, arrowing his fingers down under her waistband and inside her panties in a firm move.
Sensation exploded behind her eyelids. She felt her knees collapse, her body begin to quake with pleasure so extreme, it caused blackness to slide over her eyes. She should’ve been terrified. Except it felt too good to fight. So she surrendered.
There was no time for worry. Or fear. Only pleasure.